Wounded
by Quinto
Summary: This is a raven, trapped within a cage. Manipulated, abused.. there is no way for him to experience 'true happiness.' It is a phrase that does not exist. Depression. Carried, shot magnitude. Even suicide cannot bring him solice, relief..
1. Ichi: けが人

I do not own _Naruto_. This story is Uchihacestual. However, it was meant to me dark. This story is from Itachi's point of view.

**Wounded**

Blood poured menacingly from open skin – so pale in texture, but flowing freely and dripping wetly onto crescent white sheets below. Creases held both wrists together, which were pushed against the near-pearly wall above him. Unmarked, unscathed. Strands of raven black hung into his milky face, plush, velvet lips parted slightly. Slashes flawed his beautiful body – around thin legs, even across that flat belly of his. A trail of seepage caressed his right shoulder. Small toes wriggled, curled beneath the balls of each foot; in which heels dug into the mattress he was laying upon, unable to move. It was as if rain clouds could kiss those cheeks of his, breath coming and going through his chest. Rise, fall. Rise, fall, and he didn't care whether they returned. His eyes were just as lifeless. Coal black, marking no emotion whatsoever – nearly aloof, he stared above at the empty, unpromising ceiling.

"_We will love you…"_

Forgive me

Forever

Coils of white hot pleasure lay within his abdomen, twisting and turning until pressure caused his spine to arch – his expression flickered for just a moment, brows furrowing upward. _Oh, but God, the best the best and every part every part just_

_Melts _

_Away_

Wetness. Plagued his stomach, from that massive organ curving upward and swollen against his belly, its tip resting prettily and glistening against the tiny button where his umbilical cord had been cut at birth. Reduction. His head turned; the side of his face buried to the pillow underneath himself, nails clenching at fabric until he was sure that it might rip. He felt nothing. Tingling, perhaps, and pain as if a sword had cut through his bottom and slashed every part of him, that searing ache that left him writhing in its aftermath. He could deal.

"_If you're perfect."_

Why?

For a long time, he'd questioned it. He'd never bothered to ask out loud. Itachi could feel liquid pouring from flickering hues. His chest ripped. His mind shot a million times back and forth, shut off from the silent world outside and his father retying the cord of his robe, slipping out of his bedroom and leaving him there. Broken. There had been plenty of noise, he, unaware of his loud gasping he, unaware of his pleading and screams for the larger, heavier male to leave him alone, stop, promise that he would never forget.

Never forget a training day. Never again.

The door creaked open for a second time.

It wasn't Fugaku this time.

A tiny, afraid tone echoed and bounced to ears that almost flinched.

He bled.

"… 'niisan?"

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A/N: Depending on how many reviews I get, I'll post a second chapter. This one was short. But I do hope that you readers enjoyed it for the most part while it lasted. I will continue working over winter break and hopefully, the newest additions will be longer. Ta.


	2. Ni: 秘密

**Ni: **秘密

Every moment after such an encounter had led to only awkwardness and slight tension between Sasuke and his older sibling. Its final second lasted while both males were seated upon their knees feasting breakfast for the morning. The tall one gazed down numbly towards his food without even lifting his fork; lids lowered halfway over each hue. Perfectly brushed and, this time not bound by a ponytail, his hair hung into his milky face. One hand slipped shakily, wrapped in a set of medical bandages, for his glass of water (not orange juice this time, he decided, because it would sometimes upset his stomach after training).

"Taiyou, neee!" Otouto cried gaily, glancing out the window. Always so full of smiles and just a small – simple crave for affection, the child wriggled in his seat as if refusing deliberately to listen to his mother's soothing words of calm. Their "father" was not home again after last night. As always, he was gone on a mission… perhaps S-class this time because the night earlier, Itachi overheard his serious tone while he spoke to Mikoto. Neither of them quite missed him too much at times like these. The female moved over her youngest, palm slipping to his head and laughing softly.

"You're hyper this time of morning, Sasuke-kun. What's got you happy?"

"Araaa, kotonashi 'kaasan! 'Cept… I can't wait until the week starts up again! I want to bring Oniisan for show-and-tell Monday, can I onegai? Onegai 'kaasan!?"

Itachi stared at no place in particular. Because of his lack of attentiveness, there was a pause – before the subject was moved to something a bit more exciting for the family. Rokugatsu (June), in the Uchiha Clan's Estate, meant that they would be traveling to the Summer Home. No one dared to question Itachi in this instance, although for once his mother had become assertive and said clearly—it caught his attention, and he left the room at the words—he felt as if he would puke, and even when he'd just stood and

L e f t

They didn't care.

"You'll be sharing a room with your father, Itachi. He requested it. Won't that be nice?"

He remembered two weeks ago.

At those words—those _words_—

He shut himself within his room, locked the door.

The Exacto-Knife felt better when it pierced the underside of his wrist.

The floor sucked him into darkness itself, and dizzily, dazedly… the ceiling collapsed upon him until he could not feel anything—no, numb—anymore.

Blood pricked and dripped to the tile floor.

As always

It felt

Just

_Euphoric_.


	3. San: 旅行

**San: **旅行

This was the Family Dinner. Everyone sat close to one another; it was a juurai (traditional) time of year where the clan gathered together, or at least the branch that included Mikoto and Fugaku's mother and father, and others that had asked in turn to tag along. That made nearly a hundred people in all. Sasuke sat on Itachi's left, and Fugaku on his right. It was so difficult to wait for the food to be brought out, but little by little, it was set upon three or four tables away from them. There was laughter and of course, the occasional scream from a baby and children chasing one another nearby. A row of black and blue, all of the Kasai yokai origin sat together in two lines.

Obaasan placed her hand across and onto Itachi's. He noticed how cold it was and nearly forgot himself, about to flinch as if bitten by a spider.

"Aa, magomusuko, how are you?" Her wrinkled mouth formed a smile.

"At the top of the list as always. He is truly my child, that I am sure. He shows top performance with every mission he completes for his section of ANBU and never fails to impress everyone."

His "father" answered for him. Itachi reacted with an awkward shift, though it went unnoticed, and nodded for his mother to excuse him. She declined with a dismissive wave.

"Okaasan, I need to use the restroom," he said quietly.

Still, she declined. "You can wait until we are finished eating," she murmured. "This is the most important time for us. Surely you remember…?"

He paused. "…Yes, Okaasan. I remember. Gomen nasai."

Cousins flit around with sparklers and popping explosives, giggling madly, but they halted every movement once the eldest rose and adults became silent. Chairs made ragged noises when they were sat down into, and plates clattered, as they were prepared. A few remained whispering, and his loud, booming voice echoed over them all.

"Uerukamu, family!"

Applause.

"For the umpteenth time, we become one, and celebrate our history together! Through the ages, the Uchiha clan has shown its top-notch abilities! Whether it be in writing, or physical effort, we have _never_ once disappointed those who hold us in high regard. We recognize as our prodigy, our future, some of the best in our family who have shown since as babies that they will carve out our path, our way to rightness and show the Hidden Leaf village which clan is the strongest! Which clan will lead that village to our destiny shall be us. With our looks and our abilities, we make out that even our children have surpassed their parents. We see that Itachi is one of these children!"

He could not sit there and listen; everything was draining away and melting in his stomach, settling in a nauseating drive that made him quiver. Tempting him, a knife next to his left arm, and two forks upon a carefully folded kuchifuki.

"At age seven years old, he graduated from Leaf Academy at the top of his class. At ten years old, he passed his Chūnin exam with not one bad mark. And now at age thirteen, he has become the _captain _of ANBU. This is why we recognize Itachi as not only a role model, but as the clan's future itself. A round of applause, please!"

The clapping of hands reached his ear like a roar that wouldn't stop.

"And now! We eat!"

And then he felt something strange. Someone, something, was grabbing just below his beltline – already he felt dizzy, and he glanced down just the slightest… Sasuke peered up with huge blinking eyes.

"Daijibou, 'niisan?"

There wasn't an answer because a few moments later, he had wandered off and over to his mother to ask her a question and cuddle within her lap. So much for asking if he were okay. Not that he was. That hand moved nimbly with caressing fingers, violated him, and he couldn't help but know just who had been behind it. "… Yamatte," he murmured. "Onegai. Iie, yamatte."

There was no response, and it didn't stop. And the more it went on, the harder it became to resist looking a little distressed because pressure was building in his abdomen, and a familiar ache beginning that made him quiver… fingers pressed to the edges of the table until his knuckles faded to white, and the palm pressed down easily. It coiled around him, his legs parted slightly… and the hand was gone, to grab his own, pull him from the table and away from everyone else into the woods against a tree. Its bark cut into the fabric of his shirt, nails gripping the rough spots so that he wouldn't move. The strong appendage coiled around his front section, at his hips, rubbed slowly up – down, up – down against the spot between his legs.

Of course, he responded through breathing a little heavier, shivering against the pliant squeezing that went on infinitely. His heels pressed into the ground, hips finally pushing forward against the groping part, eyes shutting tightly… The tightness that restricted his ever-hot length made him writhe a little, hiss and pant when movements became faster. This was due to be his "special treat" for the day. Digits slipped into his black pants, and wrapped around bare flesh

Squeezing

Again.

His head tipped back against the shoulder behind him, because the stronger body was pressed close to him, and his legs spread even more, and he let it happen. He was weak to it. His pants had dropped to his ankles. The fist that was making a light 'clap' every time it rose and fell, clenched around his erection, and his abdomen bucking frantically into it, rapidly, fluidly… the mid-section of that same hand stroking against the top of his organ, and he panted heavily, grimaced because it'd become _so hard, so hard until it felt like a rock_…

"Please!"

His forehead rested against the tree, and the hand moved fast. It brushed against his balls, and he gasped, it was slick and sticky and all the time, numbing pleasure coiled inside of his stomach, up and up and up… "Ahh..! Ahh.. Nnn..!" Hair clung to his cheeks, which had a light sheen of sweat upon them, even the back of his knees… and his muscles clenched—spasm, spasm, rattling shallow moans and heaving for air, and he slumped, off-white splattering into the holder.

"That's my child," whispered huskily the booze-inflicted voice to his ear.

He couldn't stop the tears.

Crack.

The mirror was cracking.

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A/N: A little dessert for my reviewers. Hope you enjoyed it; I will attempt to make things a lot steamier as this story forms and moves along.


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